


1991

by Ahab2631



Category: Southern Vampire Mysteries - Charlaine Harris, True Blood
Genre: . . .My Tags Are Out Of Order, A Tiny Human Wraps Vampires Around Her Tiny Human Pinky, Always Sass, And He's Over 1000, And yet, Baffling Really, Because Fun, Because He's Raising Her, Because It took Them A While To Amass Land And Wealth, But He'd Never Say He Was Her Dad, But You Shouldn't Be Able To Tell That From My Writing, Dark!Emma probably, Did Vikings Do That Thing Where Older Guys Married Younger Women?, Eric and Pam Swear A Lot - Who Knew, He Would Have Had To Get Over That Squick, I Don't Even Know Period, I Hate Sookie, I Like This Other Fic Where An Immortal Fell For The Girl He Raised, I Mean On The One Hand Ew, I don't know what else, It's Something I'm Wondering About Is What I'm Saying, Multi, No Seriously I Think I Have A Problem, Sass, Still Don't Understand How But It Managed To Not Be Creepy, There Might Be A Relationship Between Eric and The Kid, Where He Would Be Grossed Out To Have Sex, Which They Needed To Support A Family, With Someone Who Was A Baby When He Was Already Grown, Would He Ever Have Had It?, and bill, paranormal shit, why am I doing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631
Summary: Eric comes out of the video store one night to find a naked, screaming toddler in his parking lot, sitting atop lush greenery that wasn't there two hours ago. Inexplicably, killing it seems to be the last thing either he or Pam want to do.Instead, against all reason and sense, they raise the thing.Or: Emma gets found and raised by Eric and Pam instead of the Shreveport pack.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unicorns and Sh*t](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9819803) by [Ahab2631](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahab2631/pseuds/Ahab2631). 



> This was an idea I wanted to explore, so I don't know how far I'll even end up going with it. Apparently I just have this illness where I can't stop starting new fics. I won't ever leave you hanging if it ever looks like I'm going to drop it, though.
> 
> True Blood Universe and characters, but will pull a little from the S.V.M. series. Aiming for 100% in-character for everyone.
> 
> I'm really bad at naming stuff, I might come up with an actual title later.
> 
> We (the story and I) have no Beta, and I don't have the patience for half as much editing as I should really probably do. So. >_>

**Shreveport, Louisana**

**1991**  

 

There is a very young child crying outside. Normally he doesn’t much care, unless he’s hungry and it is alone. This one, however, is grating. He has returned his full attention to inventory forms and ledgers three times and the thing is still squalling. Shrilly. His eyes narrow fractionally in annoyance, then he feels warm breeze on his skin, and he is standing in front of a peculiar sight.

It is a female. A naked female, sitting on a patch of soft, thick grass near the fence that borders the parking lot around his shop, where there was nothing but slab concrete was when he awoke not two hours ago. He does not think ones this size can talk yet. They can certainly scream.

He cants his head to the side and crouches down.

“Hello, tiny human,” he says. He puts a cool finger under its chin and tilts it up, softly blowing at its tear-streaked face. When that doesn’t work, he rubs gentle thumbs under its eyes to wipe away the wetness. It cracks its lids open, edged with long, dark lashes, clumped together from the water. The instant it does, he has it.

His will wraps through its mind. _“Shut. Up.”_ he orders, all humor and civility dropping from his voice.

It stares at him for a moment, then abruptly its face screws up and the horrific sound redoubles. There is no one nearby and it smells like. . . odd. It doesn’t smell like anything except the grass. No other humans, no places, nothing. He leans in and sniffs cautiously - ones this small often smell terrible. It doesn’t even have a scent of its own. Its heart beats quickly, blood pulses through its veins, but aside from what his eyes and ears tell him, he wouldn’t even know it was in front of him.

He considers snapping its neck just to shut it up. He is fairly certain no sound has ever been so grating. Instead, he physically pries its eyes open and reaches out again, pressing his influence on it. Nothing happens.

His nostrils flare and he stands. “Pamela,” he says.

“What,” she asks peevishly, immediately at his side.

He is looking down at the creature. “Glamour it.”

“That’s what you called me out here for? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Just do it.”

She rolls her eyes and curls a lip, but bends at the waist, back straight, and puts her hands on her thighs. “Hey. Human. Look at me.”

“I do not believe it speaks.”

She sighs. “Of fucking course it doesn’t. Ginger!” She yells loudly.

Eric looks at her and raises an eyebrow.

“What? I’m not touching that thing, it’s disgusting.”

He doesn’t hide his half-grin.

Far too slowly, a twiggy young woman with honey-brown hair and violently terrible fashion sense is jogging toward them from the door of the shop, her gait belying spectacularly the fact that she nearly lives in four-inch heels. “What--” she begins as she nears them, but pulls herself to an abrupt stop when she catches sight of the little girl, now crying so hard that she is coughing. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, how did you get out here, you poor little thing?” She bends over and lifts the little girl into her arms, but that only makes her cry harder still.

“Make it open its eyes,” Pam says. She nearly has to shout to be heard.

“Huh?” The brunette yells back.

 _“Open her eyes, Ginger._ I swear to God you get more stupid every night.”

Ginger begins cooing at the thing and Eric murmurs, “Technically that’s not entirely her fault.”

“Technically I don’t give a fuck. And since when do you?”

“Mm. Fair point.”

“Here you go,” Ginger croons. “There you go, see? They’re not so bad. And Pam’s real pretty. You wanna say hi to Pam?”

The blonde’s lip curls again, but she bends down to level her eyes with the thing’s and pushes her will over the child. _”Shut the fuck up, you disgusting little bloodbag.”_

Again, the girl pauses, then starts crying again. Pam’s eyes widen and dart to Eric, but he is studying the child.

On impulse, he reaches out and takes her from Ginger, holding her at arm’s length under her armpits. It is awkward. The crying ceases immediately, and he is washed in a sense of satisfaction he has only ever felt from killing or fucking or feeding.

He feels disquiet from Pamela - she is relieved that the sound has stopped, too, and like Eric, it isn’t just from the restored sense of peace.

The child looks up at him with bright blue eyes, pink and shining from her tears. Her face is red and blotchy and snot is running down it, and he has the wholly disturbing thought that he has never seen anything so beautiful.

“What are you?” He murmurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters should be much longer than this. This is maybe just a prologue or something, idk.
> 
> Swears should also not be quite so prolific. But I mean, it was Eric and Pam. They don't care.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 1/1/18: tiny tweaks


	2. Chapter 2

Manipulation is an art, and it is one that comes so naturally to Eric that challenges are rare. Even when he was alive and not very good at it, he tended to get what he wanted. To say most other people lack the skill would be putting it generously. To be great takes an instinct and will that you can’t learn or be taught - that natural talent is crucial, but it’s sloppy at best and self-defeating at worst without knowledge and practice. You have to learn subtlety and flexibility. At the very least, you have to be able to communicate coherently. So he’s having a hard time understanding how a minute little teacup human - Ludwig informs him the child is roughly one year old, he could care less - is managing to wrap him and Pamela around one pudgy little finger.

He would swear on nearly anything that she isn’t human. There is some extranormal influence, some magic going on here, there is no other explanation. He knows of only one creature so capable of instantly charming anyone, human or otherwise - fairies, the young ones in particular - and they have been extinct since long before even Godric’s human life began. It doesn’t fit, anyway. By all accounts, fairies were wiped out because vampires found them so irresistible. The idea of so much as gently nipping this child makes his skin crawl. It’s not a feeling he’s familiar with. He doesn’t care for it.

Meeting someone else who can play with others is usually fun. Like chess, but much more entertaining. And it usually ends in great sex.

This is not fun, and it is not entertaining.

“How certain are you?” He asks the tiny doctor, annoyed and doing nothing to blunt it.

“That she’s human? One hundred percent,” she says flatly. Ludwig, as she is known, is professional but short - literally and figuratively. That she hates vampires is well-known, but she values their blood too much to refuse to work for them outright, and she is the best at what she does. More importantly, she is also flexible and discreet.  “I’ll admit there are some strange things about her, but she’s human all the way through. Not a halfling, either.” 

“Bullshit,” Pamela argues. “She doesn’t even smell like anything.” The fact that she is referring to the child as anything but “it” is damning enough evidence that the little girl has a draw that goes far beyond normal. Pamela Swinford de Beaufort  _loathes_ children. “And where did she come from? No one has reported a kid like her missing for five states in any direction, and that’s just what we’ve gotten to tonight. She just shows up here on a patch of grass which, by the way, sprouted its way up through two feet of solid concrete in under two hours. There's shit on the security camera, either. Just nothing, then static, then. . . that,” she says, curling a lip at the little girl.  
  
All she does is smile back at the vampire like she's the most wonderful thing she's ever laid eyes on.

Ludwig shakes her head as she rises and removes her medical gloves. The child has not so much as squirmed or whimpered during the examination, except when Ludwig took - at Eric’s insistence - blood. At the barest, muted little whine, both vampires had had to suppress the gut urge to rip the woman away and throw her across the room to make her discomfort stop.

“I’ll grant you she’s unusual, but much as your people like to pretend otherwise, humans can and will surprise you. There's a reason we hide from them when most of us are physically and mentally superior,” she says levelly as she starts putting supplies into a bag that holds far more than it should be able to. She moves with crisp, practiced neatness. “They’ve had paranormal gifts crop up in every continent all through history, and not as many as you’d think were related to inbreeding with the supernatural world." She speaks as though entertaining a question from a trying five year-old. A trying,  _dull_ five year-old. "The simple truth is that even when you take the magical element out of it, nature is good at coming up with weird stuff. Maybe she’s the next evolution of mankind. Maybe she’s an impossible combination of dormant traits showing themselves in one little girl.” She closes her bag with a snap and turns for the door without the smallest social nicety. “But she’s definitely human. In any case,” she says without turning her head, “if I were you, I’d worry more about who left her outside the place. I’ll expect payment within the week, Northman.”

The dented little silver bell over the door jingles, and Ludwig is gone. It immediately sounds again as she leans back in around the door. “I’m going to be checking in on her, by the way.” Her voice is more stern than Eric has ever heard, and her face is ice as she looks both of them in the eye. “You do wrong by that little girl, and I will make you regret it. I didn't go to the trouble of looking her over just for you two to have a snack.” She leaves, and this time, stays gone.

That both she and Eric are irked at the mere implication they would hurt the child is nothing but further evidence of her abnormality, as far as he is concerned.

“Bull. Shit.” Pamela says again, eyes on the door. “I want a second opinion.” 

Eric is inclined to agree, despite the fact that Ludwig is the first, second, and third opinion in her field. He would expect that whatever this was masquerading as a human, no matter how convincingly, someone of the tiny doctor’s years and knowledge would be able to see through the deception. To recognize some sign.

More proof that she is not as she appears.

Abruptly, Eric says, “Have Ginger call for child protective services first thing in the morning. I want it gone before sunset tomorrow.” He turns and goes to the office, leaving no room for argument. Pamela _wants_ to argue. She’s appalled, angry - furious - and almost _hurt,_ and she isn’t quick enough yet to see the instincts for what they are: unnatural and artificial.

The very most troubling thing is that Eric feels all of them, too. Fury at the idea of trusting anyone else with the child. Something like what he vaguely, loosely remembers as nausea at the knowledge of how abhorrent the system he is turning her over to often is. Violent, protective anger at the sort of people it might expose her to. He is physically uncomfortable, as though his body is trying to force him to retract the order.

All of those things are exactly why he will not yield. Whatever that thing is, he will have nothing to do with it, and neither will his progeny.

 

* * * * *

 

Pamela shoves the basement door open, irritation in every line and curve. She stops on the other side of the front counter and crosses her arms. “What the hell has crawled up your recently-acquired lady parts?”

Eric’s look makes snapping at her unnecessary.

“That’s the fifth idiot tonight you’d have rather drained than looked at.”

“How exactly is that different from any other night?” He drawls.

“If you want her back,” Pamela says bluntly, “just go get her.”

Eric’s jaw twitches. “You know it is not that simple.”

“What I know is that if you don’t pull your head out of your ass soon, I’m going to revolt.”

“Pamela--”

“I might think Ludwig is full of shit when it comes to whether or not that squealing little meatbag is human, but she was right about one thing, Eric. Where did she come from? Because she sure as shit didn’t spring up out of the ground like that fucking grass we can’t kill. Somebody sent her, or she’s, fuck, I don’t even know.” She leans in over the counter to put her face closer to his. “But whether she’s supposed to be a present or do something to hurt us, don’t you think it’s a better idea to keep her close so we’re ready when whoever it is, or _whatever_ shows up?”

“Do I think it’s a better idea to keep a possible threat close when that is exactly what whoever sent her wanted?” It is actually what he would prefer to do if this were that simple, which Pamela knows. “I know why you’re arguing this, and it is exactly the reason I sent her away.”

“Which I appreciated. We’ve always been on the same page when it comes to how fucking useless feelings are. But staying away from her isn’t helping either of us, it’s just making us more twitchy. I almost killed some stupid frat boy last night because he wouldn’t stop asking me questions about our porn collection. I know we can get rid of bodies, but we can’t do it forever since we’re stuck in this shithole, and I’d like to save it for special occasions.”

“How is that different than _your_ normal desire to kill people for annoying you?” His anger is burning off; that’s a good sign. She knows he wants the same thing she does, she’s just gotten tired of fighting it sooner than he has.

“I wasn’t even going to drink from him first,” she replies flatly.

He lets his head drop. “It’s a bad idea,” he enunciates, beleaguered. “We can figure out what was behind it without keeping her around.”

“Do you actually think she’s affecting you any less than she’s affecting me? You’re just taking it in the opposite direction, and as incredibly strong and willful as you are,” she says with sincere affection, “we both know where this is going. Did you notice we stopped calling her an ‘it’ the first night?

“You’ve been vampire a lot longer than I have, and you were never a woman, but I am more pissy and wound up than I was on every one of my periods as a human. Combined. Then multiplied by ten. She’s like a fucking drug, but its been a month and I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel any cleaner. If anything I'm _more_ wound up. If she’s around, at least we can try and figure out what’s going on without wanting to burn the fucking world and rip the heads off everyone in ten miles.”

She pauses, and her voice softens as much as it ever has. “We haven’t been on great terms since we got put here, but tell me it hasn’t been worse since she left. We’re all we have, Eric. For fuck’s sake, she’s a year old, one year. What is a bloodbag who can hardly walk straight supposed to do? To _us?_ You’re being stubborn just to be stubborn. That’s only fun when you do it to _other_ people.”

When he doesn’t reply - because he can’t - she shakes her head. “Then how about this: you go get her, or I will, but my way isn’t likely to help our situation. I never was much of a masochist. Even when they paid extra for it.”

 

* * * * *

 

It is an easy thing to track her down and glamour away the memory of her. From the few people they speak to, it is starkly apparent it is not only the vampires who become enchanted with - and protective of - the girl.

When they reach the foster home and find her in a crib in a well-appointed room, she stands at its bars, ignores the foster parents in the doorway, looks right at Eric and, pacifier still in her mouth, holds her arms out, asking to be picked up.

Whatever resistance he had to the loyalty she seems to engender crumbles into nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story isn't coming to me quickly and I got impatient to post sooo apparently I lied about short chapters. I know it's the butts. I'm sure if the story is ok, you'll find it in your hearts to forgive me xD
> 
> <3
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 7/23/18: Age guess changed from two to one


	3. QA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of [words in brackets like this] as subtitles.

She is given a room in a safe house. Books on childhood development are purchased. A nanny is hired, and a chef is brought in from Houston. They are glamoured to within an inch of their lives to take care of her and protect her. To be fair, they are also compensated very well.

 

 

* * * * *

 

Four days later, Pamela walks into the office of the video store. Her shoulder pads are pointed today. “You’re not going to believe this shit.”

Before Eric can ask, she’s holding a piece of paper in front of his face, flattened out from a tri-fold. The paper is thick, off-white, and legal-sized.

He scans it, then looks up at her, brows raised. “You’re kidding me.”

“Oh I wouldn’t joke about this. I looked into it, practically creamed my panties when I found out it’s legit.”

Eric takes the paper from her for a closer look. “Why would anyone want to buy this shithole?”

“That was my question. Until I saw the offer. Then I stopped giving a goddamn.”

When Eric finds the number, his brows raise even further.

“Do you think we can?” she asks.

He considers. The condition laid down by the fledgling Authority and, more to the point, the Yakuza, was that they establish themselves as upstanding business owners in the area. It wasn’t specifically said they had to own _this_ business.

A slow smile spreads across Eric’s lips. “I say we find out.”

 

* * * * *

 

There is, of course, no secret value to the video store or the land it is on, but the aren’t going to argue if some moron wants to buy it for three times its worth. In cash. They buy a strip club in a better part of town, then gut and redo it.

They buy a book store, too, to ensure their public image is “wholesome” enough for the Authority. Given that the adult section of their video store was as large as the rest of it combined, they assume it is enough.

They know they are being watched, so when the paperwork comes through and months pass without anyone coming to threaten their lives, they think it safe to assume that the change is acceptable.

It isn’t until then that Varlese is seen outside of the safe house. It is longer still until she is seen anywhere even remotely associated with either of them.

 

* * * * *

 

“She doesn’t cry,” Pam says. “They’re supposed to cry.”

“They aren’t supposed to magically appear out of thin air and win the loyalty of everyone around them, either.” Eric replies flatly. They are standing in the open doorway of her room, watching the rise and fall of her tiny chest. She stays up very late for a human child, they’re told. But it quickly became accepted fact that she is not human. “I had to glamour the nanny again to make sure she wouldn’t tell anyone. Doesn’t cry, doesn’t throw fits, even when she’s upset about something.” A pang of anger and discomfort winds through them both at the memory of the last time. “Did you know they can’t usually use the toilet at this age?”

Pamela makes a face. “I’ll never understand why anyone puts up with the things. Thank god I was never one.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he hums. “I bet you were an adorable child.”

“...Eric, I will fucking cut you.”

“Tease.”

 

* * * * *

 

“I like Sophia,” Pamela remarks. They are watching her play with colored putty at the table, which has been covered with plastic because it cost $18,000. She’s mostly squishing the stuff between her fingers and trying to stick everything within reach into her mouth.

“And usually you have such good taste,” Eric drawls.

“Says the man who calls her ‘creature.’”

“It is accurate, and there are not an abundance of humans who speak old norse in Shreveport, Louisiana. I think it sounds nice in English.” He takes a sip of the drink he holds. Fresh blood, generously “donated” by the nanny, in a crystal tumbler. They don’t feed in front of the little girl yet.

“What are people going to call her for short, Eric? Elsa?”

“Only if they wish to lose an eye.”

“You know she has to go to school.”

“We can get her tutors.”

“We are not raising a spoiled bitch with no social skills.”

Slowly, Eric turns his head to give her a look.

“Ok fine, we’re not raising someone with no social skills. She can be as spoiled as she wants, and if she doesn't come out at least a little bitchy I will feel like a failure, but if you keep her locked in the house and away from the sun, she’s going to have issues. We don’t do issues.”

“What do you suggest? Turn her loose in the public school system?”

“Please. There are private schools,” she says.

“None near us. Or are you suggesting we send her away?”

In secret, the both of them feel their skin crawl at the idea.

“Fine. Fine. What if we just sort of… give a makeover to one of the local schools? We can glamour the staff and make sure she gets good teachers.”

“That would mean she sleeps every night,” he points out.

“Only for a while. The books say she’ll turn half nocturnal as a teenager anyway. We’ll foster a love of the moon.”

Eric considers saying something sarcastic, but the truth is that’s not a half bad idea. “We’ll have to hire someone to go through the student population.”

“And do what? Public schools don’t get to be selective. We’ll just throw in some smart kids to make her work harder. Besides, she’s living _here._ There’s no special inoculation for stupid, Eric," she says, droll. "She has to go through it to build up an immunity. And there is no shortage of stupid here.”

“It has been a while since France. Maybe the Authority is feeling generous. Perhaps we could be transferred.”

Pam makes a derisive noise and Eric doesn’t bother to argue. It’s so preposterous he doesn’t even know why he said it.

“Have you talked to Godric?” She asks. She’s a little careful with her tone.

“No. If he wished contact, he would be the one to make it.”

“Right. But you don’t think--”

“No,” he says, and that is the end of it.

She sighs quietly. One hundred years, and it’s just about the only fleshbag habit she hasn’t completely broken. “Fine. I’ll have Ginger start making calls tomorrow.”

Eric raises a brow at her, the picture of arch.

“To find someone competent to make the actual calls,” she adds with an impressively disdainful roll of her eyes.

  

* * * * *

 

They compromise on a name: Emmaline. To commemorate the occasion, Pam gives the little girl one drop of her blood. When that proves the be tolerated without incident - disconcertingly so, in fact - Eric does the same. It's something they've been putting off for a while, and the longer they went without tying her to them, the more antsy they both got.

 

* * * * *

 

“Are you my dad?” She asks in her tiny voice. Fearless as always.

“En español,” Eric says boredly.  
[In Spanish]

She sighs. “¿Eres mi papá?” The words are uncertain on her tongue, but she has a clear gift for languages. And now she’s annoyed. She is adorable when she’s annoyed.  
[Are you my dad?]

“No.”

She huffs a sigh. “¿Es Pamela mi mamá?”  
[Is Pamela my mom?]

He chuckles. “No. Pero si se lo preguntas, quiero estar allí para verlo.”  
[But if you ask her that, I want to be there to watch.]

She makes a considering noise. ¿Es Ginger mi mamá?”  
[Is Ginger my mom?]

“No.” He sounds disgusted.

“¿Eeees mi tía? Mi abuela?”  
[Is sheeee my aunt? My grandmother?]

He laughs. “No. No estás relacionada con ella.”  
[No. You're not related to her.]

“Oh.” She pauses. “¿De dónde vengo?”  
[Where did I come from?]

“El estacionamiento.”  
[The parking lot]

“Eso no es gracioso. ¿Ustedes... como se dice ‘adopt?’ No voy a llorar.”  
[That isn’t funny. Did you… how do you say ‘adopt?’ I won’t cry.]

“Adoptar.”

She huffs a little breath and her eyes roll to the ceiling. “¿Ustedes adoptar?”

“Ustedes me adoptaron,” he corrects.

She gives a little growl and over-enunciates when she repeats the question back to him.

“Si, te adoptamos. Técnicamente yo lo hice, al menos legalmente.”  
[Yes, we adopted you. Technically I did, at least legally.”]

“...¿No le gusto a Pamela?” She only calls the other vampire “Pamela” if she’s speaking to Eric in private.  
[Did Pamela not like me?]

Eric looks up at the child. He actually considers lying to spare her feelings. The urge passes quickly. “En francés.”  
[In French.]

_"Eric."_

He looks at her, and she looks back. The little creature had stones. It was usually one of Eric’s favorite things about her. “Aucun de nousvous avez aimé au début, lilla Varelse. Mais cela a changé rapidement.”  
[Neither of us liked you at first, Varelse. But that changed quickly.”]

The warmth in his voice and the sincerity on his face cracks whatever fear she’d wrapped herself in and she smiles, just a little.

“So... you’re not my dad. Pamela isn’t my mom.” She speaks slowly as if trying to piece something together. She hesitates longer this time. “But... are we a family?”

Eric looks at her for a moment, then walks around the counter to her. He kneels and puts his hands on her arms. “Yes, little one,” he says seriously. “We are a family. We will be together through all the ages of the world. We are the only people in it who really, truly matter, and the only ones you should ever trust completely.”

“What about Ginger?”

The large man rolls his eyes. She has a preternatural ability to keep secrets, but best not tempt the thing.

“The only other people you need to concern yourself with are a man name Godric and a woman named Nora. Godric looks young, but is very, very old, and wise,” he taps a finger to the center of her chest, “and Nora is a beautiful woman with dark hair and a British accent. A little like me, but less scary. At least up front. She is my sister.”

She seems to think seriously about this. “What about Godric?”

“He is my Maker,” Eric says with pride and seriousness, and her little face turns instantly somber, “and Nora’s.”

“Well… why don’t they ever come for Christmas, then?”

He raises his brows at her.

She looks down, suddenly shy. “We were supposed to talk about what we do with our families for Christmas. In school everybody said they go somewhere, or people come stay with them. So why don’t they ever come? Do they not want to see me?”

A smile pulls at Eric’s lips, and he brushes fingers across the little girl’s cheek, wiping tears away. “You are perfect. Do you remember how I told you that Pamela and I aren’t like other people?” She nods. “It’s like that for Godric and Nora, too. What seems like a very, very long time to you isn’t any time at all to us. I have not seen my Maker in more than fifty years.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s forever!”

“Not to us.”

She looks thoughtful and Eric waits patiently. “So... next year, maybe?”

He huffs a happy little sound. “Perhaps.”

“Mrs. Kendric says we’re supposed to care about other people’s feelings. So why don’t they come so I don’t feel sad?”

Eric leans in and says quietly, with a fond little tap of a finger on her nose, “Mrs. Kendric is a moron.”

 

* * * * *

 

“How come in movies and stuff, vampires are always the bad guys?” Emmaline asks, looking up from her book. It’s roughly eight grade levels above what she’s supposed to be able to read.

“Because humans are idiots,” Pam says, bored.

Eric smiles to himself. Emmaline isn’t old enough to pick up on it.

But Pam is. “Well they’re still idiots,” she says.

 

* * * * *

 

Despite what he’d said to Pamela, eventually, Eric sends an email:

_I’ve acquired something I believe you’ll find interesting. I do not think you would regret coming to see it._

_I would like you to meet Pamela, as well. She can be spoiled, but I believe I’ve done well with her. Not as well as you would have, but I’d like to know what you think._

 

* * * * *

 

They don’t meet until she is fourteen. She watches him in silence, and then out of nowhere asks, “Why are you so sad?”

Godric looks at her. “What makes you think I’m sad, little one?”

“...I have eyes?” She replies sarcastically.

Eric snaps at her in another language. She snaps back. He says something more, and it has her glaring at him, but turning back to Godric.

“I can feel it,” she says, a note of sulking in her voice.

“What do you mean?”

She taps the center of her chest with a finger. “In here,” then her head, “and in here. We don’t know what I am, but I can tell what people are thinking and feeling. Like an empath and a telepath, except I’m not either of those things, either. I can do more, too.” She says it the way a younger child would show an art project to a parent, expecting attention and praise.

Godric looks at her a long, long moment. He asks his Child in Old Norse, “This is what you wished me to see?”

Emma curls a lip at Eric. “You called me an it? Seriously?”

He shrugs an utterly remorseless shoulder. “I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

She makes a disgusted sound. “Yeah, ok.” There’s a short pause before she objects, “I do not always have to have the last word! Jesus, what crawled up your dick this morning?” And then after another moment, “Stop blaming shit on my age! It’s not my fault you’re some asshole immortal who’s out of touch with anything that’s not at least two hundred years old.”

Godric feels the strangest ripple, like unease. Emma feels it from him, and to everyone’s surprise, stops arguing immediately. She’s cowed. She doesn’t do cowed.

She doesn’t want Godric to feel bad. She doesn’t know why, she just doesn’t. He seems... not totally worthless. He seems pretty cool, actually. ...And he's kind of hot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know that either of them would have landed on "Emmaline" (Emma) as a name, but it makes things a lot easier on me to keep the one she already has (in her debut story, I mean, for those who don't/haven't read it).
> 
> Chapter title is a note to self.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> 7/2/18: Added the bit about them giving her their bloods in the tiny scene where "Emma" is declared her name.  
> 9/23/18: A Spanish speaker fixed my mangled Spanish translations!!! *hugs her to pieces*


End file.
